The officer tries to calm him down, but Griffin will not be calmed.
“She just—she disappeared. And none of my calls will go through. They keep dropping, see?” He dials a number and thrusts his screen forward.
The call doesn’t go to voicemail.
It doesn’t go through at all.
My heart twists.
He’s trying to call Lainey.
“I understand, son. This is all very upsetting,” the officer says. “But you’re not the only one having trouble. Whatever happened at the party disrupted signals. Phones are still acting up.”
“I have to go back there. I need to find her.”
The officer steps into Griffin’s path and nods at his wrapped forearm. “You need to get that checked out first.”
“But what if she’s still there? What if she’s hurt?”
“The scene’s been evacuated. And a lot of people ran. I’m sure she’ll turn up just fine. Now, why don’t you tell me everything that happened while we wait for those stitches?”
Kate sinks into the chair beside me.
“Did you see Lainey?” she whispers.
I shake my head, my insides squirming.
Yes, in fact. I did see Lainey.
No, in fact, she isn’tjust fine.
I lean into Jude, thankful for his warmth, his strength, his presence—the miraculous, steady beating of his heart.
The front doors slide open.
Mr. and Mrs. Calloway hurry inside with my dad close behind, all three so focused on the front desk they don’t see us sitting in their periphery.
Kate and I rise in unison and call their names.
When they spot us, they melt with visible relief.
Mr. and Mrs. Calloway wrap Kate in a hug while I throw my arms around Dad’s neck. When I pull back, he takes my face in his hands, his dark brown eyes swimming with worry. “Are you okay, kiddo?”
I nod, but I can’t hold back the tears any longer.
Jude comes to my side as Kate assures her parents that Twig is okay. He’s injured, but it’s not life threatening. Together, they head to the front desk for more information.
Dad takes in the state of Jude—his torn shirt, his well-defined upper half, his lacerated palm—as the Calloways join us.
“He has a contusion on his head that needed some stitches,” Mr. Calloway says, wiping his palms down the front of his jeans, which are perpetually grease-stained thanks to his job. He takes a seat. “And a burn on his ankle and foot thatrequired attention. They’ll come for us when he’s out of the procedure.”
Mrs. Calloway sinks into the chair beside him, white as a sheet. “What happened?”
Kate exchanges a bewildered look with Harrison, then another with me and Jude. “I don’t know. It was like … there was this massive gust of wind and the ground started to shake, like it did at the ball. All the lights went weird, and something exploded?”
“Everyone panicked,” Harrison says.
I nod along, avoiding Dad’s stare, and the Calloways’ too.
